


Sucker-Punch

by MereWhispers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: -ish? idk?, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Humor, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MereWhispers/pseuds/MereWhispers
Summary: No.No, no,no.This cannot be fucking happening to her.Did she just sleep with her best friend's boyfriend?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I've wanted to write a fanfic by this name, ever since I started writing fanfics. (Which was five years ago.)
> 
> Fun fact #2: I got the idea for this one from a scene I was envisioning for the other OUAT fic I have going.
> 
> Please read and tell me what you think!

Emma Swan has had it with her roommate. And yes, she is not gonna mention roommate _and best friend_ , because she doesn't feel particularly friendly towards Ruby Lucas, right now.

It's been two months since Christmas―since that ridiculous dress up party at Mary Margaret and David's―

And, well, since Ruby met the guy she’s dating.

(And Emma’s been told that this person's amazing, witty, makes Ruby happy, loves her the way no one ever has, and whole lotta other shit, but guess what? Emma has _still_ not met him.

Like, okay, she _did_ at the party. But. Excuse you, they were all dressed up! And this particular guy was Pennywise when he kissed Ruby.

Not that she's gonna judge her best friend, because… Okay she _might_ judge her a little?

Not the point!)

Now, Emma is, admittedly, _not_ a very understanding, tolerant or sensitive person when it comes to someone finding their true love―mostly because of her own messy dating history―but she has been _happy_ for Ruby, okay? Emma has been over the damned _moon_ that her bitchy best friend has finally found someone to complement her blackened heart, and, like, generally make Ruby comparatively _less_ bitchy and more likeable by the common folk, and all things of that sort, but―

 _But_.

There's got to be a limit to how much and how hard the guy's gonna work, and for how many fucking _hours_ , because they're hardly a month away from finals week, and Emma cannot fucking concentrate on her bulky lawsuits syllabus with her roommate being on the phone for _twenty three hours_ , a day!

“Is this call gonna end?” Emma snaps, rising to her feet. “Or should I move to the library, _permanently_?”

Ruby stops mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open, phone still pressed to her ear, as she looks at Emma with wide eyes. “Uh… yeah, I'll call you back later, ’kay? Yep. Love you, too.”

Emma rolls her eyes, and sits back down at her desk, trying to make sense of the text that her eyes have been skimming for the better part of the past hour. She blatantly ignores Ruby's presence, until there is a tap on her shoulder.

“I… I'm sorry, Ems, I didn't realize―”

“That people normally study before exams?” Emma cuts her, not bothering to turn around. “Well, newsflash, Ruby, not everyone has a rich Mommy sitting back at home to take care of everything if they fail at college! This―this is _it_ for me,” she desperately continues, swivelling in her seat to look at the brunette, fighting back a flinch at the hurt expression on the girl's face. She swallows. “I need this degree if I want to make a life for myself,” she adds, softly.

Ruby's eyes are glistening, and Emma suddenly feels like the world's worst best friend. “Right. I know. I kinda figured, y'know, because you don't have a _rich Mommy back at home_ ,” Ruby grits out, looking at her with accusatory, hurt eyes, and Emma lets her, shutting her eyes in guilt because that _was_ a low blow. “Wow. Uh, I'll just… You know what? I'll go stay at my _boyfriend's_ place, tonight.”

Emma looks up with wide eyes. “What? No, Rubes, stay! I―I know how much you hate your mom, I'm just… It was a dick move. You _know_ I didn't mean it!”

“ _Do_ I?” Ruby narrows her eyes, gripping her handbag as she slips on her heels. “I don't know, Emma. Ever since I started dating, you've not been yourself. I mean, I can understand the envy. Because, well, look at how nicely Cassidy screwed you up,” Ruby spits out without restrain, and this time, it's a low blow on her part. Emma tries not to be too obvious about clenching her jaw. “But your jealousy is a pain in the ass. I was getting sick of the cold fucking shoulder, Emma, so, in a way, _thank you_ for breaking the ice. At least now I won't feel guilty about going out on dates when I leave you to your sorry, lonely existence.”

Ruby is out of the door in the few seconds it takes Emma to realize what's just happened: she has screwed up her relationship with yet another person that cared about her.

Well.

She keeps getting better at that, doesn't she?

* * *

It's kinda ironic how Emma is totally _not_ studying, when the whole point of her annoyance with Ruby had been that she was too disturbed to focus.

She has stepped out of the dorm for anything other than making a run to grocery store (and/or the college canteen) or relocating to the library, after a really long time. And she feels good in her slightly sexy choice of clothing and completely erratic choice of place to visit.

Emma releases a breath, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over her as she looks at the huge frat house standing proud―and too freaking noisy, _oh god,_ is that even _music?_ ―before her. But she doesn't let second thoughts plague her as she walks into the building with her head held high.

She needs to blow some steam off before she goes back and makes amends with her best friend.

(Yes, she _is_ gonna apologize, because she's mature enough to accept that not _all_ of her frustration at Ruby's relationship was because of the ill-timed phone calls. Neal Cassidy _had_ screwed Emma over, and she _is_ bitter about it. _And_ super jealous of Ruby's easy going nature and how easily she's fallen into a relationship with someone she met at a damned _dress up_ party!)

“You got a pass, chic?” a guy with a deep brown skin tone, and soft, hazel eyes stops her in the foyer.

Emma confidently rolls her shoulders back and shakes her head. “I’m a friend of Regina's.”

The guy's eyebrows hike up, and he gives her a once-over. She tilts her head to a side, pretty sure that her skinny jeans, knee-high leather boots and bright red blazer over a sheer camisole ensemble seems something straight out of Regina Mills’ own wardrobe.

The guy probably makes the same assumption because he doesn't even cross check with said girl, simply gives her a nod of acceptance and steps aside to let her through.

(Not that she is _lying_. Well―not completely. Emma had played cupid when Robin Locksley had been assigned her partner at a project and Regina had spent the entirety of their orientation making doe-y eyes at him. So, maybe Regina owes her, and isn't technically a _friend?_

But who cares about technicalities? Regina's mother owns this house, and there's at least a few dozens of people that take advantage of the fact.

Emma is another one among them.)

(Like. Who'd believe that a queen like Regina Mills would ever be friends with a gossip mouse like Lilith Page?

But their mothers have some association, and the entire frat house simply goes with Lilith's lie.)

Emma breathes in the not-so-pleasant (or fresh) air when she steps into the dining hall, and makes a beeline for the bar.

“It's on the house, love,” a guy with buzz-cut hair and an English accent informs her, placing the drinks menu before her with a flourish.

Emma squints at him. She might find him attractive after a few vodka shots, but that's not what she's here for. She needs to _clear_ her head―not torture it with a hangover from hell.

She simply pushes the cardboard aside and rests both her elbows on the bar top. “ _Scarlet_ ,” she enunciates, eyes skimming the tiny brooch stuck to his apron. “Hm. I think I'll stick to Budweiser.”

Scarlet grins at her, and shaking his head, moves to the deep freezer stuffed under the counter. “Here you go, my lady.” He playfully winks, placing an uncapped icy beer bottle before her.

Emma simply flashes him a smirk and takes off to the dance floor.

But at the last moment―when she realizes how awfully the dancing area reeks of stale deodorants, sweat, and alcohol stained breaths―she makes a detour to the first floor, choosing to watch the happenings around the place as she leans over the balcony.

Sometimes, such gatherings remind her of Neal. Well, they actually remind her of her wild, teenage years, but because Neal was a part of those years, sometimes she's reminded of him.

Sometimes, when remembering how good they were, how much she loved him, she misses him.

And sometimes she wishes that she hadn't walked in on him sucking his ex’s face when she had.

But most of the time, she's thankful that she had, before she could've bought him the Armani watch she'd saved for to gift him on his seventeenth.

She'd used that money to get herself into Boston University, instead. She'd made a life for herself that she'd never intended to. And, obviously, what foster kid does? Not one that has been into more foster homes than the years in her age, at least.

But _getting into_ the university hadn't been the end of it, _oh no_. In fact, Emma thinks that it was just the beginning of another God-awful challenge that she dived headfirst into, without realizing.

(Something akin to her shoplifting sprees with Neal, but not quite.)

She'd been down in dumps, because she hadn't bothered to look for a scholarship. But then Mary Margaret and David Nolan had found her nearly hypothermic self on a pavement in pelting rain, and taken her in. She’d lived off their kindness for a month before she'd managed to find a waiting job.

That's where she'd met Ruby. And they'd worked their asses off―doing extra shifts and double shifts―and saved together to procure the room that they share, now.

Emma releases a breath, taking a long swig from her bottle. She has been through _so much_ with Ruby. And now they are fighting because Ruby has found love, and Emma is jealous.

(Because, yes, when it comes to that, this _is_ the barest form of truth.

Emma's been acting weirdly around her best friend because she. _Is. Jealous_. Sue her!)

Emma shakes her head at herself, and knocks the remainder of her beer back. Guilt is eating at her gut.

Why the hell is she behaving like this? It isn't _Ruby's_ fault that Emma has had a shitty past, is it?

In fact, the girl has always tried to help Emma as much as she can―financially _and_ emotionally―and is probably the only person that's given her unconditional acceptance and love.

(Except for Mary Margaret, maybe, but that shouldn't count because the woman is so loving and so damned _giving_ , she might as well be a modern rendition of Princess Snow White.)

Emma's throat clogs up.

“Oh God, I need something stronger,” she mutters to herself. “To _hell_ with the hangover.”

“Not a very smart choice to make with finals so close, love,” comes a British drawl from somewhere near her neck, and Emma almost slaps the creepy bartender― _Scabior?_ ―but then the sound of the voice registers.

No. This guy's voice has a panty-melting tenor, which, Emma's pretty sure she'd have noticed if the bartender guy did.

“ _But_ , if you're insistent, I do have a spare mug of rum that you could use,” he continues in a softer tone, leaning further into Emma, and she can feel his body's furnace like heat capturing her.

She twists in place, and―

_Whoa._

_What. The. Mother-effing. Hell._

The guy almost hovering over her shorter self―despite the sky-high heels of her boots―with a smolder on his face, and his hooded, baby blue eyes full of innocuous intent, is a stubbled, Greek God, stepped fresh out of a Victoria's Secrets’ model's wet dream.

(Because a normal girl cannot afford to even _dream_ of such hotness. _Duh_.)

“What will it be, love?” he murmurs, dipping his head to catch her gaze on its way to the wide open V of his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “Accompany a lonely man and his rum?”

His eyebrows lower further, and Emma almost moans aloud at the lust she can easily identify swimming in his rapidly darkening eyes. She swallows, dropping her gaze, because she has had _one_ damned beer, and she is _not_ supposed to act horny after a beer at the age of twenty-one, _for fucks sake!_

He steps away with a smirk, extending a hand, and it's when Emma's breath leaves her in a _whoosh_ that she realizes she was holding it. “Come on, now.”

Okay, _now_ she's gaining her senses back. There isn't a doubt in her mind that this is a fuckboy she's dealing with. He probably takes a different girl to bed, every night, using the same tactics he's been using with her.

(And because they've almost worked on her when she _isn't_ drunk, Emma is really gonna go against her usual name-calling and admit that she doesn't blame the girls that get wooed by guys who are _this_ good at flirting.

Or _hypnotising_ , because she cannot fucking tell the difference! _Goddamn_.)

But she is Emma Swan, and so she crosses her arms against her breasts. His gaze drops to the tops of her breasts, visible over the scooped neckline of her camisole, as they bulge with her action. Emma narrows her eyes.

“Who is to say that you haven't doused one of these mugs with a daterape drug? You kinda look like someone…” She trails off when his expressions turn from amused to incredulous to furious.

And she doesn't blame him. Because, what the _hell_ did she just accuse him of? That hadn't even been on her mind! Well, at least not at the forefront, but _still_. She had meant to call him out on his playboy charisma, _not_ accuse him of...what she just did.

 _Is_ she drunk?

Wait. Did the bartender do someth―

 _Stop it, Emma_!

“Lass, I would like to―”

“I didn't meant that, I'm sorry,” she rushes to interrupt when he begins to hiss at her. “I...seem to be saying a lot of things tonight that I don't mean. Forgive a girl that's having a bad day, please?”

She's probably gone a bit overboard with her apology, too, but whatever. She doesn't care how this guy judges her, does she? Of course not! It's not like she's gonna meet him, again. She graduates out of college, this year, and if she's lucky enough, she'd be on a plane to New York City to intern with the company of her dreams.

“Rum?”

Emma blinks, looking up to find the stubbled Greek God/a VS model's wet dream forwarding a tumbler towards her. Shrugging a shoulder, she passes him a half smile and accepts it.

His own lips quirk into a smirk. “I would indeed forgive a lass having a bad day, aye. We all have our moments. _But_ , on one condition.”

Emma purses her lips into another smile, because goddamn him, even his cheeky grin makes her feel like she's melting. “What's that?” she asks, her voice coming out perfectly sultry.

His eyebrows jump, the left one pressing down and the right one hiking up. “If you tell me” he whispers, pauses, then leans in so close that his warm breath brushes her ear, “your _name_.”

And Emma almost forgets it when he looks at her with that smolder. But then she breathes out. “Emma Swan,” she manages to murmur, one hand gripping the balustrade behind her and the other one clenched around the mug's handle, _tight_.

“Killian Jones,” he whispers back, his eyes scanning her face in a way that makes her sweat.

And it's absurd, because it's _February_ , and it's fucking _cold_ outside! But then he grins at her again, and she gives him a tentative smile back. And then gets to drinking.

( _Gets to_ ―because her drinking spree with him goes on beyond a few glasses.

It lands somewhere amongst a few _bottles_.)

* * *

If she's asked, Emma probably won't be able to properly relay how she went from sharing a rum and flirty banter with a hot as hell guy from a frat house, to being pressed up between the back of a couch and said hot guy, with wet lips trailing a scorching path down, down, _down_ her neck, down to her cleavage, and then―

Well.

The point being―Emma doesn't remember how she ends up intensely making out with Killian Jones in a corner of such an overpopulated house.

(Or even how they manage to _find_ an empty couch in a corner of such an overpopulated house, for that matter.)

The only thing she's aware of is his hot mouth and sharp teeth marking her exposed chest, expert hands tugging her jacket off and then sliding the frail straps of her cami top off her shoulders so that it pools around her waist and attacking the tops of her breasts that her demi-cup push-up bra offers, before his hands take a detour, gripping at her waist and dragging her body to straddle his hips― _as if she_ _doesn't weigh anything, but she does, because her staple diet comprises of pizza and coke_ ―

She's super aware of the fire that lights her up when he pulls the cups of her bra out of the way and envelops a puckered nipple into his warm mouth, and― _oh God_ ―she is really very much aware of the desperation in her voice when she tugs at his hair, pulls him closer, asks him for _more_ , pushes her breasts against his stubble―

She's aware of _him_ , the pressure she feels between her thighs, and the friction he easily creates against the very place she needs him to just―

She's aware of his deep, guttural groans as she makes quick work of his belt, unbuttons his jeans and releases the one part of him she's craving for― _fucking fuck_ ―

She's aware of her frustration when her skinny jeans doesn't want to budge past her butt, and maybe she's cursing her morning squats―but he is appreciative in the way his large hands grip her bared waist, tug at her panties, squeeze the globes of her ass―

She's aware of the stream of curses he hisses into her neck when his fingers― _his expert fucking fingers_ ―explore her, press against her and then slide inside her, massage her walls, and hit here right against― _fuck, fuck, fuck―_

(She's aware of a foil crinkling and tearing, and she's aware of thinking _fuckboy_ , _fuckboy_ , _fuckboy_ , because he came prepared―not that she's complaining, oh no, she's _never_ complaining, she just wants him to hurry and get _on_ with it.)

She's aware of her own breathy pleas when he finally sinks into her and stays, just fucking _stays there_ , and doesn't _move_ ―she pulls at his hair, licks a path up the column of his throat, bites down on his smooth skin, right where his throbbing pulse is running wild―

She's aware of the blinding pleasure rushing through her when he finally _does_ move―when he squeezes her waist so tight, she almost asks him to ease, but _no_ , no she won't ask him to ease it because it's good, _so_ _good_ ―when he grinds his hips against hers, presses against her bundle of nerves, and does it so fucking _amazingly_ ―

She's aware of the explosion behind her eyelids―

She's aware of his breathless chants of her name against her neck, his soft lips pressing open-mouthed kisses all over her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple, his fingers swiping one final time over the place between her thighs that's still throbbing, and―

She's dimly aware of his muttered curses when he rights her clothes―

She's...not _quite_ aware of how he lifts her up in his arms, but she is extremely sleepy, so…

* * *

The pat against her face is too rough to be Ruby's. But then, maybe Ruby is still mad and trying to take out her anger on Emma's vulnerable, sleeping self.

Emma wakes up with a scoff. _Of course_ , Ruby would be still mad. Has she even _attempted_ to apologize?

No. She just went to a fucking frat house to release some steam, and…

Emma frowns. And _what?_

She moves to sit up, immediately wincing at the discomfort between her thighs.

_Whoa, hold on._

This particular brand of discomfort hasn't plagued her since…well, since her hook-up with _Walsh_ , actually, but.

That's the thing. She hasn't had sex in over a _year_. What does―

“Emma? Take the damn water!”

Emma winces, a hand coming up to cradle her head when it throbs. She looks up at the person hovering over her.

Oh. _Oh_.

“Regina,” she mumbles in greeting, accepting the bottle of water and what seems like an Advil, with a small nod of gratefulness.

“So,” Regina says, crossing her arms as she pins Emma under a skeptical look. “Were you too drunk to use a condom?”

Emma barely swallows the pill, choking on her next sip of water. She coughs, trying to breathe, and when she finally manages to do that, she exhales an elongated, “ _What_?”

“You had sex with Jones, last night, girly. Or have you forgotten?” Regina cocks an eyebrow, and Emma almost passes out when the memory of last night rushes into her head.

* * *

Killian Jones fucked her. And left her.

Wow.

(Well, he didn't _exactly_ leave her, because he'd dropped her off to a guest room and informed Regina about her, but _still_.

He'd still left, right? And he had fucked her, alright―her entire _body_ can attest to that.)

( _Gods_. There are purple bite-marks in places on her body they've never ever been before.)

Emma walks down the path to her dorms, her arms tightly wrapped around her waist. She refused Regina's offers of walking her to the dorm, because, well, she isn't drunk _now_. She might be a little hungover―and even that's beginning to subside after the Advil she's taken.

She also wants to be alone for some time and reflect on how she feels.

The sun hasn't risen yet, and aside from a few idiots that are out for a run on a Sunday morning, the entire campus is quiet and empty.

Emma releases a soft breath. She doesn't know what to feel, if she's being honest. Like, from what she remembers, the sex was fucking _amazing_. And given how much rum they'd both consumed to get to that point, Emma doesn't delude herself into believing that it was anything other than a quick fuck―not even a proper one night stand, because she hadn't been with him for longer than _four hours_ ―between two people that were attracted to each other and wanted a release.

But she'd be lying if she says that she wasn't the least bit intrigued by Killian. He is sexy as hell, with a British accent and has an impossible expertise in bed to go with it. She'd be made of wood to not be intrigued by _that_.

But she's not naïve. He really _is_ a fuckboy―as she'd concluded multiple times throughout their encounter―and this was probably a normal night for him. She is overreacting because she's never been one to hit it and quit it in peace.

Things got complicated with Graham _and_ Walsh. She should learn something from her past, but she's too fucking stupid.

With another self-depreciating sigh, Emma trudges up the staircase to her room.

And then stops short when she hears voices. _Loud_ voices―and one of them is Ruby's.

Emma hovers on the lower stairs, trying to listen in, and when she does―

Her blood fucking _curdles_.

“I said I'm _okaaay._ For fuck’s sake, Kills, I didn't ask you to _dad_ me! My room's at the end of the hallway, I think I'll be fine!” Ruby is slurring, and―

It _could_ have been a coincident. But it's not when another, deep, reassuring voice joins Ruby's:

“Ruby, love, I _know_ you're quite fine. And I would be happy to leave you be, but didn't you say you wished for me to meet your roommate?”

This same voice had been whispering Emma's name into her neck, a few hours ago, while the owner of the voice fucked her into oblivion. ( _Literally_.)

Emma's heart beats wildly against her chest as she decides what to do. But that decision is ripped off her hands, when Ruby spots her.

“Emma! Oh, my roommate's here!” Ruby yells, poking her head out the side of the parapet of the staircase.

Emma takes in a breath of courage, and walks up.

Killian Jones is unlocking the door to her and Ruby's room when Emma steps up next to her drunk best friend.

“Ruby. You're...back?” she questions, trying to stand with her back to Killian, but knows she's failed to conceal herself when his sharp intake of breath echoes around the silent, empty space hallway.

“Yep,” Ruby states, popping the ‛p’.

Killian walks up to them, then, and Emma meets his eye.

Oh, God. He is _so_ attractive.

Her eyes involuntarily slide down, and his pulse-point has a huge, purple colored hickey that Emma is proud of.

“Killian,” Ruby says, and her eyes are narrowed at Emma. “Come here, and meet my best- _ish_ friend.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Really, Rubes?”

“Don't call me that!” Ruby snaps, but because she's still slurring her words, it doesn't have the desired effect and Emma has to bite back a grin. “We’re fighting.”

“It's _really_ nice to meet you, Emma,” Killian murmurs, and though she wants to be mad at him―she _should_ want to bang his head against a fucking _wall_ ―she bites down on her lower lip at the dark look in his eyes. “I'm Killian Jones, Ruby's―”

“ _Boyfriend_ ,” Ruby cuts in with a smirk, and Emma's heart stops beating. “Don’t look so _horror struck_ , Emma. Yes, you _are_ finally meeting him after so many months of wanting to.”

No.

No, no, _no_.

This cannot be fucking happening to her.

Did she just sleep with her best friend's boyfriend?

Emma storms back down the stairs, leaving a grinning Ruby and a guilty Killian behind.

 _She just slept with her best friend's boyfriend._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually write smut (because it ends up being cringey af, a l w a y s) but I dared, this time. It's from an inebriated Emma's POV, so I'm not too sure it's good, but. Whatevs. Drop me a line!
> 
> Also, temme what you think is gonna happen, next!
> 
> xo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this took longer than I'd expected – and the chapter turned out longer than I'd intended.
> 
> Apologies on both accounts!

Emma kinda hates herself.

Why the hell did she have to pick a fight with Ruby? She was doing just fine, sitting in the library, eighteen hours a day. What does her room offer that the library doesn't, anyway?

Emma rolls her eyes, pulling her focus back on the book kept before her.

But no. Her brain just wouldn't listen.

If only she hadn't fucking gone out, last night―

“Oh, God,” she groans, dropping her head on her book.

“Everything okay, in here?” a sweet voice questions.

Emma huffs into the book. “Er'thing’s just _dandy,_ Mary Margaret,” she mumbles.

“Obviously not,” Mary Margaret responds in a tone that brooks no room for Emma's protests. “And I would ask, but knowing how stubborn you are, I'm going to go ahead and make assumptions. That okay with you?”

Emma grunts, not willing to pull her head up. Killian Jones’ baby blue eyes are plastered behind her shut lids, and regardless of how fucking _wrong_ it is, Emma cannot get herself to stop thinking him. Or his voice. Or hands. Or the powerful weapon he hides in his―

She's going to hell.

“So,” Mary Margaret begins. “Given the way you were dressed, and how eager you were to get out of those clothes―even though the pajamas I could offer you barely reach your ankles―the first assumption I'd make is that you went out last night. And engaged yourself in... _activities_. And you regret all of it in the light of the day,” the brunette finishes with a proud lilt to her voice.

Emma turns her head in place, fixing her friend-cum-guardian under a glare. “Are you implying that I slept with someone and this place’s the end point of my walk of shame?”

Mary Margaret grimaces. “Okay, it sounds horrible when you put it like that. But, I can't very well ignore the... _bruises_ all over your collarbones.”

Emma hides her face again.

“And given how you've ended up _here_ ―wait. This should have been my first assumption. _Anyways_. I think you had a fight with Ruby. And now you're being stubborn and refusing to apologize―or, listen to her apologies. You know, depending on who wronged whom.”

Emma chuckles at that. “You're half correct.”

Mary Margaret is frowning when Emma meets her eye. “You _did_ fight, then?” she asks in a grave tone.

“Please don't mom out on me,” Emma whines, finally pulling herself back in a seated position.

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes. “I won't. But… Emma, please talk to me. I'm worried about you. You and Ruby _never_ fight.”

That's right, they don't. And now, they might never be in position to fight again.

(No friendship, no fights, right?)

“I… It's a long story, Mary Margaret,” Emma grumbles, a part of her wanting to vent out but another part of her afraid of what Mary Margaret will say about her and Killian.

“It's a Sunday, Em. I've got all the time in the world.”

“Fine.” Emma rolls her eyes, this time. “But I'm gonna need some pancakes to go with it.”

Mary Margaret leans down to press a kiss against the crown of her head, and that act alone makes Emma feel like there just might be a way out of this situation that doesn't involve Ruby severing her ties with Emma.

* * *

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret breathes out, squeezing Emma's hand when Emma winds the entire story up.

“I know. It's so beyond fucked up, MM,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. “I mean...what do I _do_? Do I apologize, say I didn't know, confess that it was accidental? Or do I not tell her anything, at all? And what about our previous fight? I said some pretty awful things to her that I didn't mean. What the hell do I do, Mary Margaret?”

“I think―”

“ _Honey, I'm home!_ ”

Emma winces, shaking her head when David Nolan jumps through the door with his arms spread in a flourish. His cheeks flush when he meets Emma's eyes, though, and with the addition of Mary Margaret's snickering, he simply walks up to the kitchen counter and extracts a pancake out of the stack kept next to Emma.

“Hello, Em,” he says, knocking shoulders with her when his girlfriend doubles over in laughter. “Didn’t know you'd be here.”

Emma shrugs a shoulder. “This was kinda impromptu.”

He eyes the pajamas she's wearing, and laughs. “I can see that. My girlfriend has a rather unique collection of Disney inspired nightwear.”

Emma looks down at the print―apples, glass slippers, magic lamps, red roses. She rolls her eyes with a snort. “And sorry about”―he tilts his head towards the door―“ _that_. I’m not usually that cheesy.”

Emma smirks, raising her eyebrows. “Is that so? I happen to remember otherwise, Dave.”

He groans aloud, dropping his fork into Emma's plate. “Come _on_ , Em. Don't team up with her!” he whines, pointing at Mary Margaret, who is now wiping her tears off. “I had a tiring shift at the station, and I need to rest.”

Emma releases a slow breath. “Trust me, Dave. I'm in no position to judge anyone, right now.”

David immediately grows serious, taking his protective, big brother stance. “Emma? Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” Mary Margaret quickly steps in. “You go on, freshen up, David. I'll make a new batch of banana raspberry for you.”

They kiss, and Emma looks away. She doesn't wanna look at the yearning, crazy-in-love look that Dravid's always giving Mary Margaret. Especially not right now.

In fact, Emma thinks she doesn't want to be here, at all, right now.

She clears her throat and gets up. “Uh, MM?”

The couple jump apart, and David shuffles up the stairs while Mary Margaret turns to look at Emma with wide eyes. “Y―yes, Emma?”

“May I… uh, can you lend me a dress shirt of yours? One that would actually cover some skin? I wanna head back, and wearing that cami is as good as wearing nothing.”

Mary Margaret frowns. “You wanna head back? Are you sure, Em?”

Emma exhales, nodding. “Ruby has been my best friend for the better part of three years, now. I'm not going to lose her over a couple of stupid words...and a mistake.”

Emma doesn't exactly feel as determined as her words reflect, but determination is exactly what Mary Margaret needs to see if Emma is going to leave the apartment.

She's going to figure out how to talk to her best friend, while on the subway.

She cannot avoid Ruby forever, after all.

* * *

Turns out, Emma _can_ avoid Ruby―if not forever―a bit longer than what she'd thought.

Emma loses all her courage the moment she steps into the university campus, and instead of going up to her room and talking to Ruby like she'd planned, she finds herself hiding away in the library. She tells herself that she isn't _technically_ hiding, because she did actually need this Financial Services book that isn't available anywhere but in the University's library.

Emma is making her way over to a table in a secluded corner of the library, when a voice interjects her.

“Swan? _Swan!_ ”

Now. This particular voice might have seeped in so deep into Emma's subconscious that she would probably recognize it in her _sleep_ , but she figures that it'd be more in her favor to not let the owner of the voice realize that.

She opts for ignorance, grabbing the back of a chair, and―

Freezing in place when a hand wraps over hers. She inhales, shakily, trying to not conjure up images of this same hand and its twin―with all the calloused fingertips and soft touches―exploring her body, kneading her flesh, digging into her, squeezing at―

No. _Stop_. Enough.

Last night was wrong―so, _so_ fucking wrong, and this, right here, is another catastrophe waiting to unfold.

She squares her shoulders, and snatches her hand away from beneath the warmth of his palm. “What do you want?” she grits out, her voice infused with just the right amount of irritation to mask the underlying desperation.

(Because she wants, needs, _craves_ for last night to not have been a mistake―she’d been with someone after more than a year, and what a _guy_ it'd been. She'd been captivated by how witty, sassy, and yet so very charming he was, before they'd, well _had sex_ , and she'd had to add _sexy as fuck_ to the list, too.

And then he'd left her alone, like a fucking _douchebag_ , and that had just been a miniscule portion of the giant disaster that had went down after that.

Screw her life.)

“I just wish to talk, Swan,” Killian murmurs behind her, his breath brushing the expanse of her neck not curtained by her ponytail. “I need to explain―”

“Explain _what_ , exactly?” she snaps, more irritated by the effect his closeness has on her than by his words, and twists in place despite not wanting to.

And she does regret it the moment her eyes meet his. His irritatingly gorgeous face so close to hers is like a punch to her stomach, knocking the breath out of her. She is taken aback by what she sees _on_ said irritatingly gorgeous face, though, because he has no business looking so devastated. It's just a passing moment, however, because he is quick to mask it all behind a layer of indifference.

She wonders what could possibly cause him to look so utterly wrecked. Maybe he's worried about Ruby?

“May I begin?” he asks, meekly, and he takes Emma's shocked-cum-clueless silence as her yes. “I'm… I'm really sorry I just left you, last night, and didn't stay to explain. In my defense, Regina had taken responsibility for you, and… well. And Ruby had gotten herself pissed past the humane range, so I had to…”

Emma shakes her head, completely bewildered. She almost cannot make sense of his words. Why the heck is he apologizing about _leaving her_?

(Like. _Fine_ , so she _was_ pretty bummed about it, but that was before she knew that they had bigger matters at hand.

Matters that they still do.)

“...and I had _no idea_ that you would turn out to be the roommate Ruby had mentioned. I swear, Emma, had I known, I would have―”

“You would've _what_? Who're you trying to fool? You would've slept with someone else, if not me!” Emma narrows her eyes, ignoring the pained look in his eyes. “You cheated on her, Killian. You cheated on your girlfriend. And you think apologizing to me…” She stops, suddenly. “Wait. Did you tell Ruby about it?”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, somehow looking _even_ more downtrodden. “You still don't know.” He drags a hand through his unkempt hair, and Emma suddenly notices how tired he looks. Before she can quiz him about his ominous words, he shakes his head. “No, I didn't tell Ruby about anything. I chose to leave it to you.”

Emma wants to call him out on his cowardice, because he probably didn't tell Ruby because he didn't know how. But she doesn't, because, well. She's being a coward, _herself_.

“Look, Emma, I…” He breathes out, shutting his eyes for a moment, and Emma feels a vicious stab of jealousy in her heart, because this man is _too goddamn_ _gorgeous_ and he belongs to her best friend. He mutters something akin, “ _I hope you don't punch me for_ this,” under his breath, and then looks up at her. “Whatever happened last night was messed up, but I swear to God that I don't _regret_ it,” he says, then, in one breath.

Emma stares into his shockingly blue eyes, unblinking. He said he doesn't regret it―he doesn't regret sleeping with her, and―

Oh, shit. She shouldn't be feeling so fucking happy about it, because this _also_ means that this fucker doesn't regret cheating on his girlfriend! Who also happens to be the one true friend Emma has ever had.

And just like that, determination floods her. “Listen here, you _cheating_ _asshole_ ,” she hisses, and he flinches as if she's slapped him. Well. _Good_ for him―he _deserves_ a slap. “I don't care what you think of it, because I really, very _deeply_ regret all that's happened last night and this morning. It was wrong―on so many fucking level―and it should never have happened. So, if you'll excuse me, I've got to make amends with my best friend that I've wronged.”

Emma storms out of there, her fists tightly clenched at her sides to ensure that she doesn't turn back and draw the broken man she's left behind in a fierce hug.

(She doesn't even get _why_ he looks so broken. How can one person get _so_ attached to another in the span of a few hours?

Few hours that were spent more in physical intimacy, at that―and less in talking, and getting to know each other.)

* * *

Emma is about to knock on the door when her mobile pings.

Huffing a breath out, she drops her aimed fist, and checks her phone.

**_Ruby:_ ** _I need to talk to u, Ems. Last night was a cluster of fuckups. Can we clear the air?_

Emma exhales, deeply. She wants to clear the air, as well.

Finally, she raises her fist again and knocks. The door opens immediately, revealing a nervous looking Ruby.

Emma meets the girl's brown eyes and eases a bit. _It's just Ruby Lucas – her best friend, in the whole world, dammit!_

“Hey,” Ruby breathes out, stepping back from the door.

Emma notices that the brunette hasn't changed out of the shorts and tank top she wore yesterday when they fought―and today morning when she introduced Emma to...to _him_. That should mean that she's been almost as worried as Emma, shouldn't it? Emma chooses to take comfort from that, while she perches upon her bed.

She clears her throat, aware that she has a wide range of mishaps to apologize for, and thus should be the one to break the ice. “So…” she drags the syllable out, raising her head to meet Ruby's eyes, and inhales when she receives a tentative smile in return. “I’m really, _really_ sorry about what all I said, yesterday,” Emma begins, “about your...um…” She hesitates, but Ruby dips her head in acknowledgement.

“My mother,” Ruby mumbles, shrugging a shoulder. “Yeah, it was pretty mean, and coming from you...it really hurt. But I also knew that it was your frustration talking. I kinda understood you didn't mean it. That you _wouldn't_.”

Emma purses her lips in a grateful smile, but this conversation has only just begun.

“I'm sorry, too. You know, for bringing that jerk up?” Ruby bites down on her lip, fiddling with her manicured, deep red nails. “That was really mean on my part.”

Emma nods. That _jerk_ ―aka Neal Cassidy―has always been a sore subject for Emma. Her experience with him has been one of the major root causes for all the insecurities she carries with her, today. She didn't expect _Ruby_ , of all people, to use him to deliver a blow.

But―Ruby wouldn't have expected Emma, of all people, to aid her boyfriend cheat, would she? Emma winces.

“Yeah, like you said...it _was_ mean, but you were just angry and wanted to hurt me. It's okay, Rubes,” she says, empathetically, trying her best to give her best friend a real smile.

Ruby nods, smiling back, faintly, and then her expressions turn guilty. “Also… I have something else to tell you. Something...awful.”

Emma swallows. _You and me both, Rubes._ “Yeah? Well...me, too.”

Ruby's eyebrows hike up. “Oh? You go first, then.”

Emma's courage leaves her, and she shakes her head. “I don't think that's a good idea,” she hedges, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “What I'm about to tell you is _horrible_.”

Ruby squints at her. “Weren't you listening? What _I'm_ about to tell you is pretty fucking awful too!”

Emma nibbles on her bottom lip, and groans. “Oh, God, _fine._ Together?”

Ruby shakes her head. “Ems―”

“ _Please_?”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “ _Okay_. On three?”

“On three.”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three―”

“I slept with your boyfriend!”

“―Killian’s not my boyfriend!”

Emma's mouth falls open just as Ruby gasps aloud. “Wait, _what_?”

“You― _what_?” Ruby shrieks.

“Hold on… Killian's _not_ your―”

“ _No_.” Ruby grimaces. “And you slept with him? _When_?”

“Wait―hold up. Who _is_ your boyfriend, then? And why the hell did you lie about it, Rubes?”

Ruby massages her forehead, falling back on her bed, feet still planted on the floor. “It's a huge freaking story, Emma,” she grumbles.

“Well… I've got a lot of time.”

“Goddammit, this is embarrassing,” Ruby mutters as she sits up, again. Raking a hand through her unruly hair, she exhales and meets Emma's eye. “Basically, I was drunk when I lied, okay? Really, _really_ drunk – and in that drunken state, it seemed like a good idea to introduce a hunk like Killian to you as my boyfriend. You know, to show you how well I was progressing in that department, while you were still struggling with the ghosts of your past?” Ruby sheepishly looks away. “I figured it'd be a good slap to your face.”

Emma winces. “Seriously? You lied because you wanted me to be _envious_?”

Ruby shrugs a shoulder. “My drunken self did. And anyway,” she suddenly exclaims, raising a mischievous eyebrow at Emma, “don’t you go acting like you _weren't_ envious. 'Cause I saw your face, girl.”

Emma looks away, this time, pursing her lips. “Well… That might have had something to do with bumping into the guy I'd slept with, a few hours ago.”

Ruby laughs at that. “Oh, God. Of course. But wait―this is my story, you'll get your turn to blush.” Ruby winks at her when Emma blushes harder.

“Yeah, yeah. Stop. So, if he's not your boyfriend, then who, exactly, _is_ Killian?” Emma asks, trying to not express how _much_ curious she actually is.

Ruby breathes out. “Apparently,” she says in all seriousness, “he's the guy you slept with.” Emma throws a pillow at her, and Ruby howls with laughter. “Okay, okay – I'm sorry! Gosh. Yeah, so… Killian is a friend. Obviously.”

Emma frowns. “A _friend_? I thought you didn't have any friends apart from me and Mary Margaret? And maybe David.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “He's not _that_ close of a friend. He's the only other student of the University that's taken Fencing. The Fencing Arena was where I met him for the first time, in fact.”

Emma hums. “And how did that lead up to him posing as your fake-boyfriend?”

“Uh... that's not _exactly_ how it was.” Ruby bites her lip.

Emma shakes her head, thoroughly confused. “Ruby. I seriously cannot make head or tail of what you're trying to tell me.”

(Except that Killian and Ruby aren't dating―and so she has a shot with him.

 _Wait, what?_ )

“Yeah, sorry,” Ruby mumbles, shaking her head. “I just don't know where to begin…”

“Begin with where you went after we fought? You said you were going to your boyfriend's place. Who, by the way, you've _still_ not told me about,” Emma reminds her, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I'll get to that, but let's finish the story first?” Ruby picks on her nails, again, and Emma rolls her eyes, motioning for her to continue. “Thanks. Right. So after we fought, I went down to the _Rabbit Hole_.”

Emma's eyes widen. The pub is famous for many things―and being safe for a solitary girl on a Saturday night isn't one of them. “Seriously, Rubes? _Alone_?”

“I know, but… I was just so angry, I wasn't thinking straight. Besides, it was Saturday, so I knew that Liam would be at the bar.”

Emma frowns. “Liam?”

“You don't know Liam Jones?” Ruby's eyebrows rise. “Oh, he's the owner. And, like, somewhat of a friend of mine.”

“Of course, he'd be. You third-wheel Mary Margaret and David on their dates there, only a thousand times, a month, right?”

Ruby sticks out her tongue at her. “Whatever. Anyways, so I was there, accepting drinks from Liam and thinking about how to get back at you for being a bitch”―Emma winces, but Ruby pays her no mind―“and that just got me more drunk. Too drunk to take care of myself, actually. Now, Liam had a busy bar to tend to, it being a Saturday and stuff, so he called in his brother to ensure that I got back to my room safely.

“And just my luck, his brother turned out to be none other than Killian, himself. He dropped me off to the dorm―on Liam’s bike, by the way, which was _scary_ ―and I thought _wow_. If I present this man as my boyfriend to Emma, would she feel pathetic about her nonexistent love life?”

Emma smacks her palm against her forehead. “You’re an awful drunk, Ruby.”

“Tell me about it,” Ruby scoffs. “So… I ended up at the room with Killian Jones pretending to be my boyfriend, and my best friend feeling guilty as hell.” Emma looked up to find Ruby chuckling. “How'd _you_ meet him?”

Emma shrugs a shoulder. “Well, you're not the only person who makes rash decisions when angered. I went down to the Mills’ frat house.”

Ruby's eyes look ready to pop out of their sockets. “For _real_?” she asks.

Emma ducks her head. “I’d received a flyer, few days back, that they were having a party on Saturday―”

“They have a party on _every_ Saturday, Ems.” Ruby rolls her eyes.

“Oh?” Emma shrugs. “Well, I went there, yesterday, intent on dancing all my stress out, and―”

“And instead, you ended up _working_ it out,” Ruby interrupts again, wiggling her brows subjectively.

Emma shoots her a glare. “Will you let me finish?” Ruby makes a zipping motion above her lips. “Good. So, I had intended to dance, but the floor was so damn packed and, like, _icky_ , I decided to drink and think. That's when I bumped into Killian. He offered to share his rum with me―”

“ _Of course_.”

“―and then―”

“And then y'all shared some mind blowing sex!” Ruby chirps, clapping her hands together in glee.

“ _Ruby_ ―”

“Is that _not_ what happened?”

Emma's shoulders droop. “Fine. But then, he left me―”

“About that,” Ruby intervenes with her nose wrinkled. “That happened probably because Liam called him to help me.”

Emma nods, slowly, the pieces _finally_ falling into place. And on that account, the weird conversation she'd had with Killian at the library starts to make more sense, too.

( _I had_ ** _no idea_** _that you would turn out to be the roommate Ruby had mentioned_.)

( _Whatever happened last night was messed up, but I swear to God that I don't_ ** _regret_** _it._ )

Emma groans aloud. This explains why he'd looked so fucking _destroyed_.

“You know,” Ruby pipes up, “even my drunk ass had figured something was going on when you stormed off, this morning. More so when Killian asked about you.”

Emma's head whips up. “He asked about me?”

Ruby nods. “Yep. Asked me if I had any idea where you'd be going...I told him you always swap between the room and the library. So…”

“Shit,” Emma curses. “I did meet him in the library, and…”

“And blew him off?”

“Terribly,” Emma confesses, miserably, and shuts her eyes. “I called him a cheating asshole, and lectured him on whatnot. _God_ , Ruby. I have to apologize.”

When silence reigns in the room, Emma opens her eyes again―to find Ruby smirking at her, viciously. “You've got it bad, Ems. And to say you met him just yesterday.”

“I haven't _got_ anything, Rubes,” Emma huffs, crossing her arms. “I just… there was a connection between us, okay? Like. There's got to be a reason why I got together with _him_ , after more than a year of not interacting with the male species.”

Ruby shrugs, leaning back on her bed. “Sure. And for the record, I think you owe him an apology, too.”

“Yeah,” Emma breathes out, getting up. “I―I’m gonna go talk to him, now. Is that okay? God, I don't even know where to find him! Would he be in the library?”

Ruby snickers. “You sound too fucking nervous, Emma. _Relax_. And, no – he won't be at the library. You may want to check at the Fencing Arena and the gym.”

Emma nods, walking towards the door. “Thanks. And...wish me luck?”

Ruby sits up, smiling up at her sincerely. “It'll be fine, Ems.”

Just as Emma is about to turn the knob, she pauses. Frowning she rotates back to fix her gaze on her surprised best friend's face. “You still haven't told me who you're actually dating. You _do_ have a boyfriend, don't you?” Emma asks, doubtfully.

Ruby looks down at her hands. “Actually… No, Emma. I don't have a boyfriend.” Emma gapes at her, stunned. But then Ruby meets her gaze. “I have a _girlfriend_.”

Oh.

No, wait.

_What?_

Emma shakes her head, blinking rapidly. “You're dating a _girl_?”

Ruby scratches at her eyebrow. “Well… yes. The Pennywise person? It was a girl. Her name's Dorothy Gale.”

Emma sags against the door. “You're into _girls._ You never told me!”

Ruby smirks. “Why? Would you have wanted to take our friendship to the next level?”

Emma rolls her eyes, laughing. “Come on, Rubes. Best friends tell each other everything.”

Ruby released a sigh. “I know, I know. And I'm sorry. But… Granny was never too supportive of my sexuality. I just…” She trails off frowning at the floor.

“You thought I wouldn't support you, either,” Emma finishes, walking up to kneel before Ruby. “Hey,” she whispers, lifting Ruby's tear-streaked face up with a finger. “You're my best friend, Ruby Lucas. And I'm gonna love you and support you through _everything_ in life. Forever. Always remember that, okay?”

Ruby nods, smiling tearily, and Emma draws her into a tight hug.

* * *

Emma ends up at the Fencing Arena at six of the evening – at its closing time, that is.

She hovers in the lawn opposite its entrance, hoping to find Killian in this peaceful place, which, it being Sunday, is devoid of people, instead of having to look for him in the gym. (Because _gross_.)

Her hopes turn fruitful when a mop of black hair bobs out of the Arena's door―visible to her from above the trees and shrubs surrounding her waiting place―backpack and a sword swung over his back, and stays there...to lock it, probably.

Emma bites her lip, wiping her sweaty palms against the shorts she's changed into, and walks across the garden to him.

When she's about a dozen feet from his deep blue tracksuit clad person, she stops and clears her throat. His head shoots up and turns to look around. 

Emma inhales when her eyes scan the side profile of his handsome face―those thick eyebrows, the shapely nose, that sexy stubble, and those sinful lips that were on hers...and on her body. Damn. He's so goddamn _hot_ , what the _hell_ ―

She stops suddenly, teeth sinking into her bottom lip when her gaze catches the blooming, purple mark he's flaunting on his pulse-point. _She did that_.

_Yikes._

It's a couple more seconds before he's done locking the door. He turns, then, and spots her. His shoulders visibly hunch up.

And _that_ ―that tiny, little involuntary reaction of his―hits a nerve in her, and Emma finds herself marching up to his wide-eyed self, her hands swinging by her sides to give her speed.

She stops when she's almost nose-to-nose with him, the tips of her sneakers brushing against his. “Why didn't you tell me it wasn't true?” she demands, aware that she's slipped into her protective shell, but unable to do anything about.

Killian's eyes―those beautiful pools of blue―narrow. “What wasn't true?”

Emma plants her fists against her waist, glaring at him. “That you're not _actually_ Ruby's boyfriend?”

Killian scoffs, and the act is _so_ self-deprecating that Emma suddenly wants to just hug him. (Not unlike the way she'd wanted to in the library, this afternoon.) “As if that would've changed anything.”

Emma gawks at him, flabbergasted. “What? _Of course_ , it would've changed everything, you idiot!” she yells into his face, frowning furiously.

“Is that so?” he breathes out, warm, minty breath washing over her face. She feels dizzy for a moment. “Well, you obviously know all about it, _now_. Has it changed anything?”

Emma takes half a step back, ready to admit defeat against his nonchalance, but then her fallen gaze finds his tightly clenched fists, and she knows that he's putting up a front. Maybe he's trying to protect himself too; maybe he's running away from an awful past experience, too.

Emma softens. Reaching out with a hand to hold onto his clenched palm, and ignoring the way he has stiffened, she uncurls it, one finger at a time.

“Yes, it has changed things,” she softly says, gaze running all over the calluses Fencing has given his palm. “I want to apologize for all the awful things I said to you, in the library. You didn't deserve them. You were just being a good friend to Ruby, and… I'm just so sorry.”

When she looks up, his gaze has turned from accusatory and defensive to soft and understanding. “It's okay, lass. It was my own fault for not having clarified anything about Lucas and I before taking about you and I.”

Emma nods, tentatively smiling at him. “So…”

“So?” He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at his hand that she's still holding in both of hers. Emma drops it, immediately, blushing from head to toe. He just laughs. “Would you like to have dinner with me, tonight?” he asks, then, his expressions suddenly sincere, and voice as hopeful as it is hesitant.

Emma deeply inhales, almost swooning when she takes in his scent of leather, something oceanic, and pure manly musk. She steps closer to him, her breasts almost brushing against his chest, looks up into his eyes that seem almost wary of her response. She leans her face closer, relishing his sharp inhale, and brushes her lips against his earlobe. “I would,” she breathes out, her blood heating up when he shudders, “ _love_ to.”

Killian's hands wrap around her upper arms before she can step back, and Emma leans her face away to look up at him. His eyes are half lidded, and the way he's biting down on his lower lip is pure _sin_.

_Fuckity fucking fuck._

“Would you believe it if I told you that I've been meaning to―or, better yet, _craving_ to ask you that for over a year, now?” he questions, and the way his breath keeps brushing her mouth combined by the dark depths of his eyes are almost distracting enough for her to not pay attention to his words.

But then she blinks, and what he said registers. “ _What_?” she bleats, her voice embarrassingly high pitched out of disbelief.

His lips curve up into a smirk, eyes losing their overwhelming intensity as his expressions lighten up. He slides his arms around her waist, tugging her to him and plastering her body against his. “You heard me, love,” he says in a low, husky whisper. “I've liked you for more than a year. I used to see you around the entire campus with Lucas, and satiate myself with mere glances. But then last night happened, and we're here. I didn't quite know how much better holding you in my arms could be. I was pretty much okay with admiring you from afar.”

Emma's heart is pounding way too loudly, and her entire self is probably blushing from the absurd bouts of heat she can feel shooting up and down her body, but his last statement still makes her chuckle. “You're such an old fashioned romantic, aren't you?” she whispers, trying to maintain the bubble of serenity they've built around themselves. “Because I really couldn't see that, last night.”

One of his eyebrows rises up―and Emma almost _sweats_ , it makes her feel _that_ hot. “Well… Despite knowing my way around a woman well, I _do_ happen to be a gentleman. Do what you would with it.” He grins. “And to conclude my previous argument… I believe I'm entitled to feel downtrodden about the fact that you didn't even know of my existence while I was pining for you.”

Catching his playful drift, Emma narrows her eyes at him. “And whose fault is that?”

He shrugs. “Yours, I'd say, love, for never bothering to pay attention to a dashing rapscallion such as myself.”

Emma purses her lips, her eyes scanning his face. _Dashing rapscallion, indeed._ “Yeah,” she breathes out, almost in a trance, “I guess it is. But I'm paying attention to you _now_ , ain't I?”

Killian leans down to nudge her nose with his. “Aye, that you are.”

Emma tilts her head, her eyes falling shut as she catches his lips with her own. Killian seems taken aback for a moment, before he's quickly responding―tightening his hold on her waist with one hand, and bringing the other one up to cradle her head. His tongue brushes her lower lip, and Emma moans against his mouth, winding her own arms around his neck and opening up to him.

He pulls back after a moment, tipping his forehead against hers as he washes her lips with rapid puffs of his warm, moist breath. “ _Gods_ , Emma,” he mumbles, quickly pecking her lips again.

Emma sighs, nodding against him. “I know. _I know_.”

He entwines her fingers with his―and everything starts to falls into place in her life.

* * *

(Emma finally meets Dorothy a week after the finals, over a double date with Killian and Ruby. Dorothy apologizes for the inconvenience her phone conversations with Ruby cause Emma―and Emma kicks Ruby under the table.)

(She also does great in the finals, but that has little to do with the reduced phone calls and more to do with her super gorgeous boyfriend who doubles as a wonderful tutor.)

(She tells him she loves him over a voicemail during her stay in New York for a series of interviews―he knocks at her hotel door, the next day, and tells her he feels the same, in person.)

(She feels like she doesn't deserve him, sometimes, but then he starts to fuss about the American slangs people at the local barista near their New York apartment keep tossing around, and she knows that no one else can put up with his English-ness as easily as she does.)

(But, when he gets her a bear claw to go with the princess cut diamond ring when he proposes, she realizes that no one can put up with her weirdness as easily as _he_ does.)

(Well. She doesn't need anyone to put up with her anything, _ever_ , because she's got him by her side, forevermore―he’s vowed to that.)

(Life's good. _So_ good.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the unveiled suspense? And what about the ending?
> 
> Drop me a word! ❤❤❤


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